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Posted on Sat Nov 28th, 2020 @ 4:38pm by Petty Officer First Class Sparrow Kells & Ensign Miala Rotai

Mission: Mission 0 - "Auld Lang Syne"
Location: Unknown Freighter
Timeline: First Meeting

Darkness interspersed with bright lights, sound exploding all around in a dynamic and all-consuming cacophony of striking harmonics. Clashes. Noise. Neon. Perspiration and total abandonment for the high price of an advance ticket, a stolen evening and numb eardrums the following morning.

Sparrow let go. Of work. Of routine. Of goals, to-do lists and conversation. Of everything but the solid beat of those drums about her and the swift, wonderous beauty of simply being part of the complex musical tapestry. There was no room for words, looks counted for everything, and the glow of bright lights on painted skin, eyes wide and open and too much flesh on display reminded her that there was more to existing than a reliance on cerebral activities.

Here and now, she didn't have to think. She had to simply be. And up on the stage, amidst the old-school drum kit she could look up and outward to the masses of dancers beyond the guitarists, the keyboard player and that dancing narcissist with the vocal lead.

On the dance floor, Miala was both queen and harlot, the elegance of the virgin and the lust of the whore, she was everything and nothing, wrapped in skin tight pink with more skin showing than not. A strip of pink covered everything that had to be, and skin tight mesh covered some of the rest, with a layer of loose mesh over it, the whole attire artfully torn seemingly at random to complete the look.

And in the noise and light, all Miala could do was dance. It didn't matter if she danced alone or with a partner, the dance was close and intimate. No concept of personal space remained as she let herself be touched and touch others with abandon, though her clothing remained firmly in place and any who tried to change that were promptly shooed away. She would have stressed, but the cocktail of mild sensory enhancing drugs she had taken just made the experience all the better. Nothing too intense though, she wasn't in the mood to wake up in a puddle of goo.

Once their set was done, Sparrow hit the bar, grabbing an ice cold glass of water first to rehydrate and staring out into the mix of dancers. Bright colours, sweaty people and gyrating bodies in various stages of inebriation bounced, swayed, rocked and rolled to the music. Some in sync, some utterly out of the same, all seemingly happy and caught up in the moment.

Water downed, mocha skin shining with perspiration, she leant back against the counter, choosing to stand and simply observe for a moment. Then someone pushed up alongside her, a multi-coloured drink in hand and beamed a drunken smile.

"Want some?" Said the blue-haired vixen, her outfit sheer enough to leave nothing to the imagination and every curve on show.

"I'm good, thank you," Sparrow returned. You never knew what might be in such an offered beverage.

"Buy you one of your own?" Asked the young lady, eyes hopeful. "Anything you want?" She bumped up against her quarry and leaned in real close, then locked gazes, pale green with dark brown. "I saw you up on the stage. You're amazing!"

"No thank you," Sparrow shouted over the music. She stepped back. The fan followed.

The elbow came as part of a well coodinated dance move. And the moment after it collided with the fan's jaw, she hit the floor.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" Miala said, snapping out of her trance like dance. "Are you okay?" she asked crouching next to the fan.

"Yeah," the blue haired one said rubbing her jaw. "I just..." She looked at Miala and her eyes got wide. "Oh, sorry. I was just asking for an autograph."

Miala turned to look at the artist. "Are you giving autographs?" she asked with the sort of tone that was really asking, 'is this person bugging you?'

Sparrow stared unabashed for a long second at the display of violence. Welcome violence, admittedly, instigated with a brash confidence and devil may care attitude. "No," Sparrow stated, for the record. She hated the thought of signing her name to anything. All the things a signature could be used for... it was just abhorrent to even consider. "I was not. I will not." And she saw no reason to apologize for that fact either. She did, however, view the skin tight pink coated person with mild concern as well.

"Okay, you heard the lady, shoo," Miala said helping the fan to their feet and giving them a shove, though not so hard as to send them flying. With the fan gone, she turned and smiled. She had to be certain her gut was right, or at least be certain that her gut to fucked to be accurate. "Now truthfully, did I just slam an innocent fan in the nose with my elbow or were they a creep? Cause if they were an innocent fan, i think I've had way too much to drink."

"Innocent," Sparrow stated coolly. "At least as far as I'm aware." There was the flicker of a smile for a second, then seriousness from dark, studious eyes. Rarely in her world did someone help another without some hope of payment, monetary, emotional or otherwise. "Perhaps some water?" She suggested, signally the bartender for attention. "Though I definitely need alcohol." Sparrow canted her head and regarded the pinkness again. "My shout - what'll it be?"

"Well, shit," Miala said turning to look for the weirdo she had chased off. At the mention of alcohol she turned back and smiled brighter than the force of a thousand suns. "Oh, a drink? Yes please. But you pick. I want something fruity or spicy, maybe both. Oh, and see if the guy at the bar still has those gummies."

Sparrow chuckled as her new companion cast her gaze about the place. "She's long gone," she told her, then Sparrow perused the bar with intent, considering what she could pick that would satisfy both needs of this peppy stranger. "Two Strawberry Firestorms, please," she requested when the barman slid into view with a raised eyebrow of a silent question. He nodded, and began mixing ingredients. Vodka. Strawberry liquor. Frozen strawberries. Chilli.... Crushed ice and a shot of lime tequila.

"Oh, fun," Miala said taking the drink when offered it. "I'm not familiar with it, should I drink it fast or slow?" She sniffed it tentatively and took a small sip. "Oh! Spicy! I like."

"Slow," answered Sparrow. "It builds up, lines your throat and then hits you like a burning coal dropped into the back of your mouth." The way her voice wrapped smoothly about those words made it sound as if this was a really Good Thing to happen.

"Oooh~ Sounds fun," Miala said moving to hold the glass with both of her hands and taking another small sip. She smiled as she felt the heat from the spice rush through her. It was sweet and spicy, just what she was looking for. "I'm Miala by the way."

"Sparrow," said Sparrow, and she canted her head to the side in amusement of the little spitfire of a person. "Fun huh? Interesting." She briefly closed her eyes then, let the cocktail work its magic and felt that anxious tension dissipate. And... there it was. The buurrrrrrrrrrrn.

A moment passed, and Sparrow opened her eyes and regarded Miala with a relaxed smile. "Another?"

Without a thought, Miala knocked the drink back and set the glass down just gently enough for it to not shatter into a million pieces. "Fuck yeah, another!" she said as the fire rushed through her and quickly made her cheeks flush. She felt it burn through her throat and rush into her stomach, filling her body. "Got any other good drink ideas or are we going for these for a bit?"

Slowly, Sparrow drained the glass. She lightly rested her head back then and let the rush filter through her system. Warm. Fuzzy. Enough to be going on with, but... she could do more. Green eyes opened and regarded Miala for a split second of decision making. "Another," Sparrow agreed. "Your turn to pick one though," she stated, curiosity showing in her gaze. She didn't know this person, or owe them anything, but despite the mild internal warning, she decided that was okay for the moment. "Something orange," she suggested. "See if we can drink a rainbow."

With a smile that should have been terrifying, Miala turned to the bartender. "Give me 2 Johnny Silverhands, with Telosian tequila and Old Jenk's Spirit on the line, kay?" she said with a smirk and turned back to the other woman. "This is gonna be fun."

The bartender made the drinks quickly and set the glasses in front of them, square glasses with half pale yellow liquid at the bottom with a thin line of vivd red liquid and finally a dark liquid at the top which slowly began to mix downward. A single side of the lip of the glass had been dipped in chili powder.

Miala blew the bartender a kiss and lifted her glass. "Ready?"

This was a new one on Sparrow, but she was well aware she'd started this little obsessive run through the colour spectrum. "Ready," she said. There were no kisses blown, or smiles offered, only a seriously intent expression of simple intrigue on her face. "Three... two... one... Drink!"

It snuck up on her throat like a race car skidding around a steep bend and hitting a wall. A gulp, a sneeze and a grin followed, and Sparrow slammed the glass onto the bartop with a sharp exhale.

A second behind her, Miala made lifted her glass and let the icy liquid rush into her, the alcohol burning in just the right way. She giggled when she felt the chili powder burn her lip and quickly licked her lips to wipe the burning powder away, only resulting in her whole mouth tingling with warmth. "Good?" she asked with another giggle.

"Good..." said Sparrow on a inhale as the drink lingered. She grinned. "Yellow..." Her gaze perused the optics a moment. "Keeping this one simple. Lemonade, ice, and a shot of Jager." It was, well, almost yellow.

Miala could not help but smirk at that. Her head was already buzzing slightly from the combination of various drugs she had taken and now the last couple of highly intoxicating drinks. Yet it seemed the other was just starting. "I think you might be trying to get me drunk," she said with a laugh as she watched the bartender make them yet another drink.

Sparrow's expression turned serious as she regarded her newfound drinking companion. "I'm trying to get both of us drunk," she explained, as if Miala was missing the point entirely.

With a smirk Miala took the drink once the bartender had finished it. "I'll drink to that," she said and raised her glass before bringing it to her lips and drinking as much of it as she could manage in one go, about half the glass.

A few more concoctions later and indigo was on the menu, but Sparrow's vision was now a little blurry and her head more so. Words slightly slurred, she rested her head on her crossed arms upon the bar-top, knees butting up against the counter itself, her whole frame resting on that firm backside atop the bar stool. "S'tricky," Sparrow explained. "But we have to get indigo and purple right. They're not the same..." She was oddly insistent on this detail. "They're not the same. S'important."

"Indy-go ist blue blue and vio-let is blu-sh purple and purple ist blush red-d-dish," Miala replied knowledgably. She nodded and almost lost her balance. "So, we need blue blue, blue purple, and blue red!" She wobbled for a moment. "And they need to fixsh the grav-plating in thish shec-she-on."

"No, bluer blue," Sparrow told the bartender with great drunken authority about this subject. He dutifully pointed at bottles upside-down in their optics as she nodded and shook her head. "No, no... YES!" Finally. The young woman pointed along the line then to a secondary option. "Bowfh-a-fose," she stated, unclearly. "Thenthissone... nothaddyaone."

As the shot glasses were slid across the bartop, Sparrow clapped. It was perfect, a deep dark blue outer with the palest hint of sparkly glitterly blue in floating on the top. "Dunnowassitcalled," she told Miala. "But's'pritty."

"I's goot a pro-bee-lem wit min," Miala struggled to say. She picked up her shot and downed it in a single go before setting it down and hiccuping. "Ish emp-tea!" She giggled at her own stupid joke and began to slide off of her bar stool.

Sparrow, with a concerted effort, upended the shot glass on the bar and then slumped forward to stare at the empty vessel with a firm intensity. "S'not em-tee," she decided. "Jus'no-full. S'tran-see-ent, stateof..." She lost the thread of her words then, and cast a hopeful gaze to the bar staff who were serving others. "Vy-let." Sparrow managed, determined now as she reached out to grab Miala and steady the Xelayan on her seat. "We CAN dothis!"

"Vio-lend? We'sh shoulds g' vio-lend?" Miala asked raising an eyebrow skeptically. She had the feeling, somehow, that it wasn't such a good idea, but she was having such a god time and so far all of this person's ideas were killer. "Oh Kay! I's in. Who's we'sh gon'a get?"

With the sixth sense that good bartenders could muster on occasion, their descent into unconsciousness faltered here, with Sparrow summoning the nearest member of staff. He regarded the two of them, listened to her request and nodded, smiled and finally, shook his head. What slid across the bar finally to rest within easy reach of the two women was water, coloured with the merest taste of a Kalish purple liquor and served in tall glasses with crushed ice.

"Violet," he said, graciously.

"Purr-pull!" Miala declared joyfully as she lifted the glass and raised it to her lips. SHe made it halfway through the glass before both it and her went tumbling to the floor. " 'Elp! I's falling and I's can-noot gets ba-ack ups!" She had, in the process of falling, wedged herself between the stool and the bar in a more or less seated position, though more sideways than not.

Sparrow didn't speak as she reached for the last glass. She held it, regarded it and was just about to drink it when her drinking buddy went floorward fast. Needs must, and reluctantly, Sparrow left the glass on the bar and reached down to help her new friend. She fell sideways hard, the sheer amount of alcohol in her system refusing to pass on anything from damage control, and grabbed at Miala with the intent to set her right.

That wandering hand settled on the other woman's shoulder, then wandered over to cradle Miala's cheek. "S'okay," Sparrow stated. "Stay'ere'an'gerrupinabit." Everything was a little blurry and overly loud to her senses, but she smiled, leaned forward and, very matter-of-factly, kissed the trapped Xelayan. "Could jus' stayere," Sparrow decided.

"Could?" Miala asked with a giggle as her cheeks flushed from the kiss. "Woul'n't be s'bad. Kinda comfis." She did her best to stretch, forcing herself into a more comfortable position leaning against the bar. "But onl'fo'a'bid. I go's work in the marrow." She giggled again and leaned against the other, falling unconscious almost as soon as her forehead pressed against her chest.

It wasn't comfy, Sparrow mused drunkenly. And the other woman's mention of work reminded her of responsibilities lurking somewhere in the very near future. Before that though, there needed to be sleep and here wasn't a safe place to sleep. She tried to rationalise this conflicting matter of inability to move versus the necessity, and failed.

"Jus'fer'a'lil'bid," Sparrow murmured, patting Miala's head lightly as she forced herself to stay awake. "Then def'nitley gonna need a ride home, lil one..."



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